


Reach Home To Me

by orphan_account



Category: American Horror Story, The Tribes of Palos Verdes (2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst and Feels, Eventual Smut, F/M, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Minor Character Death, Not Beta Read, Past Drug Use, Sibling Incest, Twincest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-09-01 02:15:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20250505
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Family crisis brings Medina home after a prolonged absence. She doesn't come back alone. (Permanently Unfinished).





	1. Medina

**Author's Note:**

> The plot and characters of The Tribes of Palos Verdes belong to IFC films. 
> 
> All mistakes are my own. 
> 
> Recommended listening for this chapter: Rosi Golan "Can't Go Back." 
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=lSHGitWon1c

Phil Mason disappears on a Monday. Two days later, the police find his car in the parking lot of an abandoned building several towns over. His body is in the front seat. The autopsy reveals that he died from a self-inflicted gunshot wound to the head.

Medina takes the call at 11:00am on Friday. She’s at work and it’s hard to hear over the sound of the dogs and cats fighting their owners in the waiting room. She abuses her status as a senior Vet tech to take her lunch early.

Ava’s voice rings loud and clear in the silence of the staff room when she tells Medina about her father’s suicide. Her mother isn’t handling the news of his death well. They need her to come home.

She listens to the dial tone for a long time after the call ends.

\--

Medina hasn’t taken a day off in six years. Her boss tells her to take all of the vacation time she needs.

She estimates that the trip will take them two days by car if they stop over in Phoenix. She’s in no hurry to get there. At this point, it’s uncertain how long they’ll need to stay.

Bundling Zooey into the vehicle is a lot easier than when she was a baby. A typical teenager, she whines about missing her friends and the rest of her summer break. But Medina can tell that she’s excited. Excited to see the place that her mother grew up and meet the people that she’s only seen in pictures. She seems unphased by the prospect of a funeral. She’d never met her grandfather.

Medina’s done her best to shield Zooey from the toxic relationships in her family.

She wouldn’t be risking a visit now if it weren’t for her mother. Sandy had been stable when she left. Had gotten the help she needed after the incident. Medina wonders how bad it is this time that they’ve requested her presence.

She didn’t expect to hide forever, but she thinks it would have been nice.

\--

It takes them six hours to get from Las Cruces to Phoenix.

Medina feels a gnawing at her bones, deep in her marrow as they draw closer and closer to California, closer to Jim.

The name scrapes the edges of the old wound beneath her ribs.

She’s faced conflict and betrayal, poverty, childbirth and risked everything for her daughter’s happiness, for their survival, more times than she can count. But as she lays in the motel bed with Zooey snoring beside her, she’s never been more terrified in her life.

She dreams of him sometimes. Dreams about what he might look like now. Did he get taller? Would his smirk still set off butterflies in the pit of her stomach?

Would he still know her? His twin. His other half.

Medina hardly recognizes herself anymore.

The thirty-something mom who stares at her in the mirror is an alien.

She wears the scars of her loneliness on the outside now—in the wrinkles starting at the corners of her eyes and mouth.

She misses the girl who was content in her solitude. Misses the abandon with which she would fling herself into the waves. Misses the sting of salt on her face.

She gets by. She looks after Zooey and goes to work. She’s dated, though it never felt right or lasted long. She’s spent weekends with friends laughing and enjoying the New Mexican sun.

Her life is quiet and she likes it that way.

But on nights like this, when sleep is hard to come by, she can’t help but think of Jim. Of a love torn like gossamer wings.

She’d left without saying goodbye.

Did he wait for her to visit? Hope for her company as she stole away?

He probably hates her. If he thinks of her at all.

\--

They stop at Joshua Tree and hike among the rock formations and cacti. Zooey, having never been out of New Mexico, takes hundreds of pictures with her phone. They never had the money to travel when she was younger.

Medina knows that Zooey’s been itching to leave Las Cruces; imagines she’ll go to a college far away in another state. She’s a brilliant kid. Driven and surprisingly self-aware.

Her introspection doesn’t come from Medina. She’s always been far too good at avoiding her problems.  
\--

The sixty minute drive from Anaheim to Palos Verdes is the longest of Medina’s life.

The air in the car is stifling from the heat and her emotions. She rolls down the windows for some relief. The ends of Zooey’s brown bob dance in the breeze. She’s oblivious to Medina’s agitation, humming along to whatever’s playing through her headphones.

They pull up to Sandy’s apartment complex at 4 pm. Ava texted Medina the address on the way over. They’d moved her mother out of the beach house five years ago when property taxes became too high.

Passingly, Medina wonders if financial strain is the reason that her father took his life.

The bright stucco walls and tile roof lend a cheerful air to the building. They leave their bags in the trunk and make their way up the cement walkway to the front door. Ava meets them in the foyer.

She’s loose with her affection in a way that she never was when Medina was a teenager, hugging them both and gushing about how much Zooey’s grown since her last batch of school pictures were taken. The scent of her grief—sorrow drowned in vodka and cigarettes—clings to her smart tea-length dress.

They walk up the few stairs to her mother’s floor and down the hallway to the third apartment on the left. Ava knocks and calls out a hello before opening the door and pushing her way through.

Medina’s heart is beating a riot in her chest. She hears Sandy call her name from inside of the apartment. She swallows hard and steps forward into view of the doorway.

And looks into stormy blue eyes.

Jim grips the door frame in one hand, fingers tight. The other is curled into a fist at his side. She looks at him backlit by the afternoon sun and wonders how she went fifteen years without the sight of him.

“Hey stranger,” he says, lips pulling up at the side. “Fancy meeting you here.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Click [here](https://crossdressingpirate.tumblr.com/) to scream about them with me on Tumblr.


	2. Jim

Sunshine and breath and words of love turned to ash.

A thorough disremembering.

That’s what Jim’s been trying to accomplish for the last fifteen years.

He’d woken up in intensive care after three days of mechanical ventilation with a burning throat and a horrible grating in his chest from broken ribs. He’d noticed Phil and Sandy’s posts at his bedside and had cried silently, listening to their promises to do better—to get him help. More than empty words he’d longed for Medina’s presence. 

He’d thought about the sensation of heat against his skin. The movement of hands along his back and chest. A trembling sigh in his ear.

The night he went to Medina, he’d felt the water rising around his ankles. She’d seen it in his eyes. Had begged him to stay with her with each grasping touch and tender kiss. He’d waded out into a river of drugs and alcohol two nights later and let the darkness of his anger and unhappiness take him under.

Jim had needed to reassure her that it wasn’t them—he didn't overdose because of what they did. He’d been weak. A coward. Loving her was the only decent thing he’d done since they’d been in Palos Verdes.

Phil had brushed him off when Jim asked where Medina was. He’d muttered something about her wanting to clean up the house before Jim was discharged home. It had sounded plausible at the time, but Jim still hoped that she’d show.

A soft touch on the back of his hand at the end of visiting hours had had his heart soaring with anticipation. Excitement flared and died with the flutter of his lashes. Heather, not Medina, had come to assure herself of his stable condition. He’d let her off the hook gently.

Jim waited up most of the night only for the nurses to sedate him around 3:00am. A punch to the face would have been kinder than Sandy’s stuttered announcement the next morning. Medina had left a note:

> Don’t follow me. I’ll be in touch when I settle somewhere permanent.

Throwing his breakfast tray against the wall hadn’t made Jim feel better, but it did earn him another chemically induced stupor. He’d let the darkness in again and slept beneath the waters.

_Nothings worse than leaving your tribe._

\--

Years passed, and Jim existed.

He managed to finish school and get a job at a surf shack giving lessons to tourists. Stints in and out of rehab helped him mark the passage of time. He’d go months without thinking about the sound of her laugh or the smell of her shampoo. When he realized, the guilt and depression would have him crawling back to the Bay Boys and strung out for days. 

He almost—_almost_—let himself go a few times, but the fear in his mother’s eyes kept him reaching for sobriety.

Sandy had gotten the help she needed after his overdose. His almost death and Medina’s desertion had hit her hard. Therapy helped her see how she’d neglected them both in her mania and fixation with Jim. It took a several years of drug trials and sheer determination to get her stabilized and functioning at a level that her and her doctors felt comfortable with.

Jim and Sandy were the walking wounded. But they figured it out.

Sandy took up gardening.

Jim got a place of his own and only came over on the weekends. He saved up for community college and spent a few years burning through every fine arts course on the syllabus. He fucked around with a few people, but things usually fizzled before they started. After graduation, he launched a career in photography and settled into the monotony of adulthood. Routine became an outlet for his addictive personality. 

If Phil was affected, he buried it in his practice. Jim didn’t see much of him. He sent his alimony cheques to Sandy and forwarded the few cards Medina bothered to send. 

There were never pictures or a return address, but the name Zooey turned up with annoying regularity. The thought of someone else being the reason for Medina’s happiness felt like glass shards under Jim's skin, but he wanted that for her. Didn’t begrudge her the relationship.

Jim had gotten the call from Ava about the police finding Phil’s body when he was out shooting in the George F Canyon Nature Preserve.

He’d sprawled on his ass in the dirt and listened to the cicadas sing. The sting in his eyes was unexpected. He hadn’t been close to his father since the divorce.

Sandy twisted herself into knots, thinking that it was her fault. That she’d driven her ex-husband over the edge with her continued existence. She’d flushed her pills down the toilet and spent the night wandering the beach from her apartment to the old house. A dogwalker had found her shivering in her bathrobe around dawn and called Jim.

She’d started asking for Medina that afternoon.

\--

Jim thought he was prepared. That he could handle seeing her. But it’s the softness in Medina’s eyes that does him in.

All the pain and anger in the years since he last saw her vanish. Heat blooms in his chest. She’s still gorgeous. Still all limpid doe eyes and golden skin. It’s reassuring that he can still see himself in her face—in the bow of her lips and the turn of her cheek. He’s covetous of the fine lines etched there. It should have been him making her smile, making her eyes crinkle with glee.

He can’t help the sarcastic greeting that falls from his lips. 

“Jim,” Medina says, oblivious or choosing to ignore his tone, “you grew your hair out.”

The sound of her voice is anguish and a relief. “Funny how people change over fifteen years.”

Medina isn’t quick enough to hide her flinch. She opens her mouth to respond but is cut off by another voice.

“Hi! I’m Zooey. You must be my uncle. Mom says you like to surf.”

Jim hesitates, remembering panted breaths and the twining of bodies in the dimness of his bedroom.

In front of him stands a girl, tall for her age with brown hair in a bob past her chin. She narrows his own blue eyes at him, head titled just so as she takes him in.

The world ‘uncle’ rips him open across his belly and up beneath his ribs where the deepest wounds of a lost love bleed fresh. She’s the ghost of a future that he only let himself play out on the lowest of nights.

He wonders if it’s possible to pretend so hard that you conjure the imaginary into being.

“Hello,” Jim breathes, attempting to steady himself. “Yes, I’m—that’s me.”


	3. Medina

Medina inhales a breath and holds it until her lungs burn with the effort.

She knows Jim sees the resemblance. It would be laughably obvious if it weren’t beyond the realm of possibility for most people.

But Jim isn’t one of her friends in New Mexico or Phil and Ava. He knows exactly what Zooey’s blue eyes and brown waves mean. Because they’re his. His contribution to the life that Medina had found out was growing inside of her weeks after she’d left.

Zooey's introduction sinks like a lead weight in the chasm between them. Jim’s jaw works before he smiles, the rawness in his eyes carefully shuttered.

Medina regrets the pain that this is causing him. Regrets keeping Zooey from him. But she’d been a scared teenager. She stopped blaming herself for every misstep a long time ago; she’d never get out of bed otherwise.

Phil had confronted her about Adrian the night of Jim’s overdose. Someone had seen them kissing weeks beforehand. Outraged about the risk to his reputation, he'd given her $1000 cash and told her to skip town like the whoring mess she was.

Medina had laughed in his face. He didn’t know anything. He couldn’t look beyond his own bullshit to see the transgressions that were happening between his own children.

Jim and Medina had always been worryingly co-dependant. Closer than society’s definition of what siblings should be.

She'd gone to the hospital that night after packing her bags, Jim's words from the beach playing over and over in her head. 

_We don’t need anyone else. _

But then Heather had been in Jim’s room.

She'd kissed him, fisting a hand in the front of his blue hospital gown. And Jim didn’t push her away.

Medina remembers stumbling back and slamming into the counter of the nursing station. The pain in her hip hadn’t registered with the loud buzzing in her ears. Then she was running. Running from the image of a sleepy smile pressed against lips that weren’t her own.

With considerable effort, Medina shakes the memory off. It’ll be hard enough to survive the next few hours without poking that particular bruise. 

Zooey breaks the awkward silence that's settled in the hallway by diving head first at Jim for a hug. She wraps her slim arms around his waist and nestles her forehead into his shoulder.

Jim looks discomforted at first, at a loss for what to do with his hands. He relaxes when Zooey sighs and sinks further into his warmth. His shoulders expand, curving protectively around her. He pats her gently on the back. 

Suddenly, Sandy’s face appears between Jim’s body and the door frame. “Medina,” she breathes, “you came!”

Before Medina can take a step forward, she's enveloped in a terry clothed embrace. Rose scented hand cream and Tide laundry detergent fill her nose. She sighs, inhaling some of the scents that will forever mean home to her. “Hi, Mom.”

Sandy releases her grip and leans back to take her in. A hand with more wrinkles than Medina remembers strokes along her jaw. “Look at you, my baby. You're all grown up. And still so pretty.”

The polite clearing of Jim's throat has Sandy’s eyes swivelling to where Zooey’s shy face peeks out from his side.

She gasps, “and with a baby of your own. Is this my granddaughter? Medina, she’s beautiful! What’s your name, sweetheart?”

The youngest Mason beams. “Hi Grandma, I’m Zooey.”

\--

More hugs are exchanged after the four of them shuffle into the apartment with Ava. Jim gives a passing squeeze to Medina’s forearm under their daughter’s watchful eyes, but he doesn't linger. Sandy doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy quizzing her grandchild about every detail of her life in New Mexico.

Medina waits until Sandy's bustling around in her galley kitchen with Zooey to ask how bad it is.

Ava frowns, shooting a glance at Jim.

Jim runs a hand through hair that just reaches the collar of his button-up shirt. Curls stick out errantly around his face in it's wake. He blows out a breath. “Mom stopped taking her pills when she found out about dad. She’s been hanging around outside of the old house and freaking out the neighbours. I’ve made an appointment with her doctor for Thursday, but she refused to go without seeing you first." He pauses, clears his throat. "She said that she has things she needs to say before the drugs make her forget.”

Blue eyes focus on her face. Medina fights not to shiver under his stare.

“I think our priority should be getting her through the funeral without a major meltdown," Jim says.

Medina accepts his explanation, nodding her head. “Yeah, ok. I think we’ll stay here. We'll keep an eye on her. Make sure she’s not leaving the house by herself.”

Ava leans forward in her chair, eyes misting with emotion. “Your father would be so proud of you both, looking after her like this.” 

Medina hides her snort with a cough. Phil made it clear what he thought of her a long time ago.

She’d started sending cards when Zooey was three as a sort of fuck you gesture; little snap shots of their life that said, ‘look at me thriving and not dead in a dumpster.’

\--

It’s almost too easy to relax into the gentle hum of conversation in the apartment.

Ava and Jim discuss funeral arrangements while Zooey scrolls through her phone, catching up on the text messages that she’d missed during their arrival. She was disappointed with her grandmother’s lack of Netflix.

Sandy sighs from her place beside Medina on the couch. She’s been quietly touching her at random intervals since they sat down, darting fingers from Medina's knees to her shoulders and back again. “I’m so happy you’re here, my Little Bird," Sandy tells her.

She’s been lucid all afternoon, so Medina’s surprised to see her eyes go unfocused now.

“I knew I’d misplaced you somewhere,” Sandy whispers, staring off toward the front door. “I went back to the house, but you weren’t there. I couldn’t remember where I lost you. You were always wandering off. Chasing butterflies and cats under hedges. And no matter how loud I called your name—” 

Medina pulls Sandy close as her back heaves with a sob and buries her nose in grey streaked hair. “Shhh Mama, it’s ok. I’m here. You didn’t lose me. I’m not going anywhere.”

Medina looks up to find Jim watching her.

Connection thrums between them. That uncanny ability to know exactly what the other is thinking.

_Later_.

Medina blinks once in acknowledgement and he turns away.


	4. Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The (a) confrontation.

When Ava leaves, they order takeout. The four of them crowd around Sandy’s small table and chat about Zooey’s plans for school in the fall. Medina offers to clean up when everybody’s cleared their plates.

Jim doesn’t really know what he says to persuade Sandy to take Zooey down to the beach—something about the sand sculptures from last month’s festival—but it must be convincing, because soon he and Medina are alone in the apartment.

They don’t need witnesses for the conversation that they’re about to have. 

\--

Jim leans in the doorway to the kitchen and watches Medina’s arms move in the soapy water. He knows that she knows that he’s there. A minute change in her body language gave her away. Another person might not have noticed, but you can't fool a twin.

Jim almost smiles but doesn’t. Medina doesn’t turn to face him.

He thinks it might be easier that way.

“When did you decide?” he asks, eyes glued to the space between her shoulder blades. “Before or after I almost died?”

_Did you think of me at all?_

Medina tenses but doesn’t stop her scrubbing. A long pause.

“After,” she finally answers.

Jim hears a hint of bitterness in her voice and is confused by the resentment. If anyone gets to be angry in this situation its him.

Sandpaper roughness catches in his throat. “I waited for you. In the hospital.”

Another pause. Medina drops the plate in her hands. “I didn’t know about Zooey. I didn’t know that I was pregnant until four weeks later. I never meant to—I didn’t leave because of her,” she says lowly, voice tight with emotion.

Reality is too sharp in this moment. Jim feels like he’s surrounded by barbwire and any small movement will open him up and have him bleeding out on the kitchen floor.

He reminds himself that he can leave. He can walk out this apartment and never see her again. His gaze lingers on Medina’s wet hands, hands that once roamed his body, pressed white against the edge of the sink.

Jim blinks tears from his eyes. “So it was me,” he grits through his teeth. “Because I was too weak to save myself. Too broken.” 

Medina turns around then and crosses her arms over her chest. She keeps her eyes stubbornly averted, staring at an old red toaster that was a fixture in their childhood.

It’s silent as she chooses her words. “You were drowning Jim. I was tired of keeping both of our heads above water.” 

A raw sound bursts from deep in Jim's chest. Tearing. Rending.“I never wanted you to drown with me, I just wanted you. I would have left everything—” he says, voice breaking on a sob, “—for you.”

_I trusted you_.

“Maybe I didn’t want that Jim,” Medina responds, her own voice trembling. “Maybe I didn’t want you.”

A lie. A poisonous lie and a betrayal to the ardor that she’d carved into his skin with every soft touch and press of her lips. 

“Bullshit!” Jim yells. “You loved me. You begged _me_ to stay!” He laughs without humour, “you can’t even look me in the eyes and say it.”

Medina blinks furiously and sets her jaw. “I apologize if I hurt you leaving the way that I did. But I don’t owe you an explanation.”

Jim’s across the kitchen and gripping her shoulders as soon as the words are out of her mouth. He jerks her forward in his grasp.

“You owe me everything, Medina! _You took everything!_” Medina squirms in his grasp, trying to turn away, but he holds her still. He pins her against the countertop and bites harsh kisses into her lips.

_You own me._

Medina gasps at the press of his lips and teeth. Jim eats at her, sliding his tongue between her teeth to stroke against her own. He tastes iron 

_I bled for you, every day that you were gone. _

He shudders, starved for the taste of her after so long. Sunshine and breath and lost love.

“Stop, Jim,” Medina hisses, pressing one hand against his shoulder. “Stop.”

She catches his face in her hands and touches her forehead to his. Watery brown eyes meet blue. They’re both breathing too hard, too quickly.

“I’m sorry,” she sobs. “I’m so sorry.” She whispers it again and again until Jim lets up on his grip.

Carefully, Medina leans close to kiss the corners of his eyes. Just like she used to when they were little. An acknowledgement. A promise.

_I see you. _

The sound of the patio door sliding opening has them jumping apart. Medina spins toward the sink and plunges her hands back into the water, hiding her sniffles with the sound of the drain.

Jim trembles.

He brings one hand up to press against his lips. To hold on to the sensation of her there. Seconds later, he dashes the tears on his face and plasters on a smile that’s only slightly wobbly.

“Hey,” he calls, walking into the front room. “How was the beach?”

Zooey finishes banging the sand out of her flip flops and follows Sandy inside. Her smile makes him feel simultaneously ten feet taller and like he’s folding in on himself.

“It was great! I took some awesome photos of the sunset, but I think we’ll need your camera next time."

Jim hums appreciatively when she crowds in next to him and scrolls through the thumbnails on her phone. Unthinkingly he offers, “you should come out to the preserve with me tomorrow. I’ve still got a few shots to finish up before the funeral.”

“Really? I’d love to! Grandma was telling me about your work,” Zooey says, eyes twinkling with excitement.

Hopeless affection overtakes him. Jim feels a goofy grin spread across his face and sees her respond in kind.

They’re still grinning like idiots at each other when Medina clears her throat. She’s leaning against the wall opposite to them with her eyebrows raised expectantly at Zooey.

“Hey Mom! Do you mind if I go?” Zooey asks.

The sternness Medina was going for deflates under the force of Zooey’s enthusiasm. Jim tries to school his face into something neutral when she darts a look at him. He’s not sure that he manages it, but whatever Medina sees there has her sighing, “alright. But Jim’s in charge. No touching the cactuses or picking up spiders because they’re lonely.”

Zooey rolls her eyes. “It was one time and I was ten. You need to let it go.” 

“Never,” Medina tells her. “You made a tarantula a construction paper hat Zoe. I’m going to bring it up every chance that I get until I’m completely senile.”

“Like you aren’t already.”

Jim watches them pull faces at each other and feels a different pang in his chest from earlier. He thinks that this one might be good. He wants to know this kid. His kid.

He wants to know if it’s bravery or caring that spurs her to hug strangers like she’s known them all her life. Wants to know what other weird shit she gets up to when she’s not making hats for arachnids.

He has an opportunity here. An opportunity to be a part of her life.

He’s not going to waste it.


	5. Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Zooey spend some quality time together.

Jim catches sight of himself, smiling in his bathroom mirror as he gets ready for bed, and rubs his lips because it’s an expression that he hasn’t seen in a long time.

He’s been content, sure, but never truly happy. His happiness left when Medina did, and he never fully recovered it.

And he’d been ok with that. Even when he was forgetting her, she was there; a hollowed out space that he’d stopped trying to fill.

But she’s here now, by her own choice. She could have ignored Ava’s call. Could have stayed away and never seen any of them again.

Jim has no idea what it means. Nothing had been settled in the kitchen, just old wounds re-opened and bled.

But what’s left now that some of the poison's been drained?

He’d exposed himself with that kiss. He’d never been very good at waiting. At picking the right moment. 

When they were kids, Medina would hold his hands to keep him from touching things he shouldn’t. She’d been so distraught the time he burned himself on Sandy’s curling iron that she’d cried and promised in her girlish voice to make sure that he never hurt himself again. 

Jim knows his addiction took a toll on her like it did everyone else in his life, but he wonders if she took it personally. If she ever felt like she’d failed little Medina by not keeping him safe from himself.

She’d clammed up on him earlier, had tried to lie about why she left. But for the first time in a long time he’s hopeful. Maybe if he’s patient, if he can sit and wait for Medina to come to him, she’ll tell him the truth. Tell him what memory turned her eyes so flinty when she’d claimed that she didn’t owe him an explanation. Tell him where they stand now that Zooey’s been revealed.

Jim's waited fifteen years. He can wait a few more days for his answers.

\--

Leaving his house in the morning, Jim’s struck with a sudden bout of anxiety. He doesn’t know what to do with a kid. What do they even talk about? Her mother’s glaring absence from his life? _Definitely not_.

He’s hasn’t spent time with kids since he was one. That just wasn’t his life. Emotional scarring aside, he’s been so busy building his career that he’d never stopped to seriously entertain the idea of settling down.

Jim spills his coffee on himself three times on the drive over to Sandy’s to pick Zooey up. The fine tremor in his hands and the pounding in his chest tells him he probably doesn’t need the caffeine, but after tossing and turning all night he’s not feeling very sharp mentally. He could use the pick me up.

When he pulls up to the curb, he honks the horn, as prearranged, and occupies himself by glancing out of the window at the water. At 9:43am it’s high tide. The conditions are pretty good, not too choppy. He remembers the sting of salt in his nose and wonders if Medina ever taught Zooey how to surf. He’d bet she’s a natural. Medina was.

Twenty minutes later, Zooey bursts out of the front door of the apartment building with a flourish of damp brown hair and a smile. _Jesus_. His kid’s a total tomboy. She’s the spitting image of her mother in her crop top, Charlie Sheen bowling shirt and baggy pants. Is this hipster fashion? He thinks that’s what it’s called. He vows never to ask lest he appear as out of touch as he is. God, he’s getting old.

Jim sees Medina lurking in the doorway and raises a hand in a wave as Zooey breaks into a sprint toward the vehicle. Medina doesn’t wave back but he sees her lips curl into a reluctant smile at the sight of his old truck. 

Zooey jerks the passenger side door open and pants, “hey, sorry I’m late! The breakers blew in the guest bathroom when I tried to plug my hair dryer, straightener and phone in at the same time.”

“No worries, I was just enjoying the view with what’s left of my coffee. You gave my pants time to dry,” Jim says, pointing at the darker patch of denim on his knee.

Zooey looks at him in puzzled amusement and slides into the cab of the truck. “You need a travel mug, weirdo. You’re gonna give yourself third degree burns. How do you even drive standard holding a coffee cup in your hand anyway?” 

Jim smiles wryly, “what can I say, it’s a gift. And I’m the weird one? Someone who was once a milliner for spiders really shouldn’t throw stones, Zooey.”

She rolls her eyes. “I was in phase at the time, okay? We’d just finished learning about Ancient Egypt at school and I was _obsessed_ with Neith, weaver and spinner of fate.” She shrugs nonchalantly. “Just in case, I thought I’d better make the spider a hat worthy of a deity.”

Flicking on his signal light, Jim pulls them smoothly onto the road. There’s hardly any traffic at this time of the morning. The rush hour usually tapered off around 7:45am.

He’s surprised by how easy it is to slip into conversation with Zooey. “Oh yes, the Greek or Egyptian phase; a mandatory part of pre-adolescence. I remember that. I was a Greek man myself, but Medina wouldn’t shut up about mummification for weeks.”

Pitching his voice high in a parody of Medina’s, he recites, “Jim, did you know they pulled the brain out through the nose? Jim, did you know they dried the bodies out with salt?” He grimaces in remembrance. “Ugh, your mom ruined beef jerky for me.”

Zooey snorts. “Why doesn’t it surprise me that mom was a nerd. She wouldn’t know how to be cool if someone snuck up behind her and pulled the stick out of her ass.”

Jim doesn’t smile. He doesn’t. Clearing his throat, he says, “yes, well, I’m sure that she has her reasons for having—for being the way that she is. It can’t be easy being a single mom.”

“It was a bit sketchy when she was in school, but that was a long time ago. I don’t really remember much,” Zooey mutters, picking at a seam in her pants. She heaves a sigh and pulls her eyes up to the side of his face. Studying him. Jim tries not to squirm. “So, what about you?” she asks. “What’s your deal, Uncle Jim?”

Jim raises his brows. “_My deal?_ I don’t really have one.” They hit a pot hole and the clinking of ceramic sounds in the cab. He throws a thumb over his shoulder at the array of empty coffee mugs stashed in the backseat and tells her, “that. That’s my deal. Budding hoarder at your service.” Zooey frowns at his non-answer so he tries to elaborate. “I work a lot. Do a lot of shoots for magazines and sometimes I show in galleries. I’m usually travelling to one place or another along the coast, but I try to stick close to your grandmother," Jim tells her.

Zooey’s quiet for a few minutes.

“…Is Grandma ok? Mom said that we should make sure that she doesn’t go out alone right now.”

Jim turns off of the highway and onto the gravel road that will take them into Portuguese Canyon and thinks about his answer. “Your grandmother has mental health issues…has for a long time. Usually she does really well, you’d never know. But stress can be a problem. The important thing to remember is that she would never do anything to make you feel uncomfortable if she could help it. If she starts forgetting or says something odd, the best thing to do is remind her of where she is and that she’s safe.”

Zooey nods her understanding slowly and whispers, “I hope she likes me.”

Jim darts a glance at her face and sees her biting her lip in consternation. “Zooey, that woman already loves you. She’d claim you even if you had three eyes and a unibrow. You’re her only grandkid. Of course, she likes you.”

There’s that eye roll again. “Whatever,” Zooey says, turning her pleased face toward the window.

\--

The hike through the canyon isn’t too grueling. Zooey didn’t know to bring boots with her for the trip to PV so Jim sticks to the main paths where it’s easy to keep your footing.

Before they’d set out from the truck, he’d given her an older model SLR camera and told her to shoot whatever she wanted. Jim still shoots film. He knows analog is a dying breed, but he would take hours bent over in his dark room over staring at a computer screen any day.

Whoever Zooey’s high school photography teacher was, they’d done a decent job of showing her the basics. She knows how to change the shutter speed and adjust the aperture without needing to be told.

The silence that settles between them is companionable. Zooey stays several paces behind him and tries her best not to get in the way of his shots. Jim sneaks a few pictures of her when she’s not looking: her crouching down, face scrunched as she zooms in on a pink cactus blossom; semi-profile, squinting into the sun; and walking away from him down the dirt path toward the cliffside. 

They’re all photos Jim tells himself he’ll display for her enjoyment the next time he sees her. He ignores the voice in the back of his head that says they might be all he has left of her when the rest of this week is over. 

When they reach the lookout point, Jim waves a hand and calls Zooey over. He’d packed a bit of a lunch for them in his camera bag. The fresh air always made him ravenous.

They plunk down on sun-baked rocks and dig into the apples and trail mix he sets down between them. Jim’s taking a sip from his bottle of water when Zooey tilts her head and without looking at him, asks, “so are we ever going to talk about the fact that you’re my dad?” 

Jim inhales his mouthful and coughs violently as his lungs reject the water. His chest burns with the effort as he turns to look at her and gasps, “WHAT?!”

Zooey looks back at him. She frowns, eyebrows scrunching angrily. “I’m not stupid, okay? Mom left for a reason and it wasn’t because she ‘didn’t like the sea air’. She would never tell me about my dad, said he was just some guy. But I found a photo of you in her dresser once. She got really angry about it; wouldn’t say more than that you were twins.” Zooey scoffs, “like I wouldn’t see the resemblance between us. I’d have to be a fucking moron. Which maybe I am? Being a child of _incest _and all.”

Jim has to look away. He passes a hand over his mouth and swears loudly toward the bluff. “That’s not something you should have to carry. That’s our fault, not yours. I’m sorry that you know the truth.”

“I’m not,” Zooey snaps, voice wobbling. “I deserve to know. I deserve to know my dad. I deserve to know you.” Tears fill her blue eyes and she sniffles, looking away. “GOD! I’ve spent so much time feeling angry. Hating you and the fact that you didn’t want me. And then the look on your face yesterday! You didn’t even know I existed!”

Jim reaches out a hand and hesitates a moment before dropping it on her shoulder. “Zooey, I swear I didn’t know. I’m so sorry. I’m so—You have every right to be angry. I should have been there. I would have wanted to be there.”

The mournful sob she lets out drives something sharp and rusty into Jim’s heart. He doesn’t hesitate then to pull her into his chest. He rests his chin on the top of her head and feels something slot together. Something inevitable. He lets his own grief go into her brown hair.

“I’m so sorry, baby. I’m so sorry. So sorry,” he whispers to her, rocking them back and forth. “You’re so good. You’re perfect. Don’t ever think that you’re not. I didn’t ask—I didn’t _want _your mom to leave. I would have looked for her, for you, if I had known.”

Jim rocks his little girl until her weeping stops and her breathing slows. 

When Zooey starts to pull back, he puts a hand under her chin and tips her head back so he can press a kiss to her forehead. “You’re so loved, Zoe. Don’t ever think you’re not.”

\--

The walk back to the truck is quiet. Zooey tucks herself under Jim’s free arm and they both luxuriate in the freedom of affection. Of a shared truth. 

She tries to hand the camera around her neck back to him, but he tells her to keep it. He wants her to keep practicing. He swaps the film she’d used today for fresh canisters. Says they’ll develop the pictures together when she’s used them up too.

It’s a pitiful olive branch, but it’s all he’s got right now. He doesn’t know how to begin working through the years of separation between them. If she even wants him to.

Whatever happens next is Zooey’s decision. He can’t claim her legally—he’d never destroy their lives that way, saddle her with that stigma—but he can certainly be there for her. Be Uncle Jim in public and Dad in private. It’ll kill him a little bit, but it’s better than the alternative.

He’ll fight Medina about it if he has to. The kid deserves to make her choices. She’s been hurt by enough of their bullshit already.

When he parks beside the curb outside Sandy’s building for the second time that day, Zooey pulls him into a hug and squeezes her arms tight around his neck. Before she lets go, she mutters, “I’m going to tell mom that I know.”

Jim leans back to meet her eyes with a serious look and says, “that’s your decision, Kiddo.” He swallows around the lump in his throat. “Just go easy on her, okay? This wasn’t all her fault.”

Zooey purses her lips but doesn’t argue. She doesn’t know how much she looks like Medina when she makes that face.

She slips out of the truck and whispers, "bye, Dad," as she closes the door. 

Jim watches her walk up the lawn toward the front door and sees movement behind the glass. He meets Medina’s eyes and this time she waves.


	6. Medina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! I'm back. This story is no longer on hiatus. Thanks to those who took the time to read and comment. Your kind words inspired me to keep going and give this story an appropriate ending <3

Medina hadn’t known what to expect from her day alone with Sandy. She needn't have worried. Her mother had a whole schedule of errands prepared.

It was unexpectedly easy to follow Sandy around the farmers market and let her chatter away about all of the things that Medina’s missed. There were no episodes like what happened on the couch, but the prolonged lucidity was almost worse.

Sandy's always been a shrewd person. It didn’t take her long to start teasing answers and reactions out of Medina. She never pushed too far—never asked outright why she left—but she knew the right buttons to push.

Offhand comments about her friend’s daughter’s wedding two summers ago, and _isn’t green a nice colour for bridesmaid dresses?_, had Medina gritting her teeth and assuring her mother that she hadn’t missed out on a wedding. Medina isn’t hiding a husband in New Mexico. Not even a boyfriend. Just a laundry room full of scrubs in desperate need of washing. 

The snippets of Jim’s life were the hardest to swallow. It tears Medina up inside to know that he struggled for years to get clean. She’s incredibly proud that he’s made something of himself. That he and Sandy have found a healthy distance from each other.

Medina’s not sure where she fits into that growth—if there’s still room for her. Regardless, the idea of maintaining contact isn't as unattractive as it was on the way to Palos Verdes.

Sandy walks them past Jim’s gallery downtown and Medina can’t decide if she wants to laugh or cry when she sees the cheerful way that he’s captured the coastline that used to seem so bleak to them. Surf frothing in golden bubbles against white sand at sunset; whales spouting in the distance, their breath white puffs in an expanse of blue; and a little girl holding her arms up in triumph as she stands up on a surfboard for the first time. Sandy must sense the bubble of emotion in her chest because she reaches out a hand to squeeze Medina’s and says, “he named this series after you.”

Medina’s washing lettuce in Sandy's kitchen sink when she hears the rumbling of Jim’s truck. She was surprised to see that the thing’s still running. It wasn’t new when Jim bought it off of one of the neighbours in high school.

“Perfect timing to help make the lattice,” Sandy says, looking up from the pie crust that she’s pressing into a dish. She’d insisted on making chicken pot pie from scratch for dinner. Medina had grudgingly admitted that it’s still one of her favourites.

Medina shoots Sandy a little smile and dries her hands off on one of the rooster printed hand towels that are hanging from the stove. “You say that now, but I’ve seen that kid butcher gingerbread men. She’s all thumbs.”

“So were you,” Sandy chuckles.

Medina sticks her tongue out at her on impulse. She balks a little when she realizes that she's actually having fun with her mother. She hides her shock by stirring the filling boiling in a pot on the front burner of the stove. Happy that nothing's sticking to the bottom, Medina turns the burner down to a simmer and heads out of the apartment to meet Zooey at the front doors.

She’s still chewing at her lip, conflicted, when she meets Jim’s eyes through the building's glass facade. _He’s tired_, Medina thinks, studying his face. A quiet contentment hovers in the corners of his eyes and mouth. She remembers that same expression from nights spent lying on the floor of their rooms, listening to records and imagining what life would be like in ten and twenty years. The thought makes Medina want to run out and invite him inside, recapture some of that warmth. She raises a hand and waves instead.

Jim lifts a hand from the steering wheel in acknowledgement. He pulls his eyes away to give Zooey’s retreating back one last look and drives away from the curb.

Medina blinks and resists the urge to rub the ache that's been throbbing in her chest for most of the day. She focuses on Zooey’s face as she finishes trudging up the lawn. Her brow is furrowed like she’s in deep thought. There’s a camera around her neck.

Medina holds the door open to the lobby and calls out to her, “hey, babe. How’d it go?”

Zooey walks right up to Medina and wraps her arms around her waist in a loose hug. She keeps her face turned away, cheek pressed into Medina’s plaid covered shoulder.

“It was good,” Zooey mumbles.

Medina tucks a piece of hair behind Zooey’s ear and tugs at the camera strap. “What’s this?”

“A gift.”

Medina raises an eyebrow. “You want to tell me about it?”

“No.”

Zooey pulls away and edges past Medina into the apartment. She gets halfway toward the stairs and says, “by the way, you look like lumberjack Barbie in that shirt.”

Medina sees the comment for the distraction that it is. Zooey’s mulish when she wants to be. Medina’s learned to leave her be until she’s ready to talk things out.

Playing dumb, Medina hooks her thumbs in the pockets of her cut-offs and looks down at her outfit disbelievingly. She rocks back on the heels of her bare feet. “What? What’s wrong with this? I thought it was cute?”

Zooey spins around and starts walking backwards. She rolls her eyes. “You look like Kurt Cobain with boobs.”

Medina’s impressed by the reference. Zooey likes to whine when she plays her music in the car. She hadn’t realized that she’d been listening. Medina huffs a laugh. “Kurt was hot. I'll take it.”

She follows Zooey up the stairs and back down the hall to the apartment. Zooey scoots through the door and doesn’t bother to hold it open. Medina narrowly escapes taking the edge to the face. She enters the apartment just in time to see Zooey wrap her arms around Sandy from behind. “Hi. I missed you,” Zooey tells her.

Sandy lets go of the rolling pin in her hands and reaches down to hold the arms around her middle. Unexpected joy curls the corners of her mouth.

“I missed you too,” Sandy says.

Medina gives in and presses her fingertips to her breastbone.

After a moment, Sandy taps gently at Zooey’s knuckles. “Go wash up and you can make the lattice for the pot pie.”

Zooey perks up. “Really? You know how to bake? Mom doesn’t.”

“Hey,” Medina interjects, returning to the vegetables in the sink. “I made cupcakes that one time.”

Zooey stage whispers, “they were lop-sided and burnt.”

Medina pulls the lettuce out of the sink and drops it into a salad spinner. She flicks the water on her fingers at Zooey.

“_Hey!_”

Medina smirks.

\--

Zooey’s reticence continues during dinner. When Sandy asks her about her day with Jim, Zooey’s answers are polite but deliberately vague.

It gets Medina's back up. “What did Jim feed you for lunch?” she asks, blowing on a forkful of chicken and potato. “Cracker Jacks and M&Ms?”

Zooey sets her fork down on her plate with a sharp clink. She ignores Medina and looks at Sandy. “Can I please be excused?”

Sandy swallows her mouthful and darts a look between mother and daughter. Medina frowns hard at the side of Zooey’s face.

Sandy takes a sip of water and clears her throat. “Sure, sweetheart. Can you put your plate in the dishwasher?”

Zooey nods. She pushes back from the table and takes her dishes into the kitchen. Sandy and Medina hear her load her plate and cutlery into the dishwasher carefully. Zooey doesn’t slam or a bang anything around.

Sandy raises her eyebrows questioningly at Medina. Medina just shrugs and mouths, ‘I don’t know what's up her ass.’ She’s honestly stumped. Clearly her comment about Jim set Zooey off, but she’s not sure why.

Zooey slips past them and down the hall to the guest bedroom with a murmured, “goodnight.”

It’s 6 pm.

Medina stabs a carrot in frustration. The older Zooey gets, it seems like she can never do anything right.

Sandy sees Medina clench her jaw and says, tone sympathetic, “the mood-swings are hard to get used to.”

Medina lifts her eyes from her plate and looks at her mother. Sandy’s brown eyes communicate understanding and sorrow. “Just make sure that she knows that she’s loved.”

They're not talking about Zooey anymore. Medina’s expression softens. “I knew, mom. I did.”

Sandy blinks away the sheen of tears in her eyes. She sets her fork and knife down and fidgets with her napkin. “I should have said it more often. I assumed that you didn’t need it as much as Jim.” She gives Medina a small smile, warm with pride. “You were always so strong.”

Medina sucks in a breath. The acknowledgment soothes a part of her, long repressed, that used to wonder why she was second best. Why she wasn't special like Jim. Medina doesn’t blame Sandy anymore. She understands now just how unwell Sandy was during the divorce.

Medina reaches across the table and stops the agitated movement of Sandy’s fingers. “I was strong because you needed me to be. I don't blame you...for how things turned out." She squeezes Sandy's hand tightly. "You didn't drive me away.”

\--

Medina crawls into bed around 8:30 pm. She curls up next to Zooey and breathes in her familiar scent. The sigh that she gusts out has Zooey giving up on pretending to sleep. She turns over to face Medina, and Medina realizes that her face is streaked with tears. 

“Hey,” Medina whispers. “What’s wrong, baby?” She reaches out to rub the wetness away from Zooey’s cheek.

Zooey lets out a little sob at the contact. She clenches her eyes shut tight. “I know.”

“You know what?” Medina prompts gently.

Zooey hiccups a few times and catches her breath. “I know that Jim’s my dad.”

Time stops. Medina’s brain skips over the words. Denial’s on her lips.

Zooey opens her eyes and sees her panic. “Don’t bother lying, Jim already said that I was right.”

Medina turns over on her back and stares at the ceiling. Her heart beats a fast tattoo. She swallows the lump in her throat. “H-how?”

“You’re so weird about him, mom. About the picture I found.” Zooey’s voice is still thick with tears, but her sobs have quieted. “We look exactly alike.”

Zooey found that picture months ago_. _She's been carrying this around inside of her since then. Medina closes her eyes, more ashamed than the day that she was kicked out of her house. “You were never supposed to know.”

“All I ever wanted was to know my dad and you kept him from me.”

Medina winces like the words are a physical blow. How many nights had she cried herself to sleep with loneliness and regret during her pregnancy? All she’s ever wanted is to do right by Zooey.

Zooey balls the comforter in her fists. Her voice is small when she says, “he didn’t even know I was alive.”

Medina turns over then and pulls Zooey into her arms. Her personal failures aren’t important right now. Her baby is hurting.

Medina presses her lips to Zooey’s hair and rubs a hand up her back. “I just wanted to keep you safe.” She eases back to look into Zooey’s blue eyes. “You would have been taken from me if anyone found out.”

Zooey releases the blankets and clutches at Medina’s sleep shirt. She sniffles. “Why couldn’t dad just run away with you?”

Medina takes a moment to think about her words. Jim’s story isn’t hers to tell.

“Your dad wasn’t himself when I left.” It's a cop-out answer, but it's all that she can come up with. 

Another sniffle. “You can’t keep me from seeing him now. I’ll take the bus out here myself if I have to.”

Medina frowns. “I’m not trying to be the bad guy, Zooey. If you want to visit with Jim, that’s fine. But things might not work out like you want. Jim has his own life and you're going to be off to college in a few years. You'll have to be careful in public together.”

Zooey weighs a heavy look at Medina. “What about you? What do you have to look forward to?”

The little existence that she’s carved out in Las Cruces is all that’s waiting for Medina. She doesn’t want to depress Zooey, so she says, “you. I always have you to worry about.”

\--

It’s 3 am and Medina’s freezing. She woke up two hours ago with itchy feet. She'd left Zooey huddled in the blankets and slipped out the patio door to the beach.

The moon and the gentle lapping of the waves guide Medina as she makes her way across the last few yards of sand to the old house.

The cherry glow of a lit cigarette draws Medina’s eyes to a body sprawled in the sand. Jim’s sitting on his butt with his back up against a log. Medina drops down beside him without a word.

Their fingertips brush when Jim passes her the cigarette. Medina tries not to drop it in the sand. She hasn’t smoked since she was seventeen, but you'd never know it from the smooth way that she inhales.

“Zooey told you.” It’s not a question.

Medina exhales a blue cloud of smoke. “Yep.”

Jim cocks his head and stares out at the waves. “Are you going to yell at me about it?”

“No.”

Her answer surprises him. Jim glances at Medina and takes the cigarette back when she holds it out.

“No?” he asks.

Medina stands up and brushes the sand off of her shorts. “No. I’m going to invite you to go surfing with us tomorrow.”

Jim’s visibly taken aback. His free hand clenches around his denim clad thigh. “Yeah,” he says, voice breathy. “I’d like that.”

“9 am at Haggerty’s?” Medina asks. If she remembers correctly, the waves tend to be lower there; 1-2ft. They need a new spot anyway. Lunada's filled with bad memories. 

Jim’s eyes glint. “It’s a date.”

Medina's body feels too hot. “Don’t push it,” she murmurs. She turns and walks away.

Blue eyes caress her from a distance as she heads down the beach. 


	7. Medina/Jim

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Sorry for the wait, my writer's block is still going strong, but I've finally made my way through this one :)

Medina doesn’t go back to bed when she gets back to the apartment. She closes the patio door behind her, as quietly as she can, and turns to find Sandy already up and nursing a cup of coffee at the table.

“Is there more of that?” Medina whispers, smiling weakly.

Sandy nods and returns her smile, eyes wrinkling at the corners. Medina bustles around in the kitchen and returns with her own mug, dark roast heavily doctored with cream and sugar. Sandy waits for her to take a sip and swallow before saying, “I thought that I was the one at risk of wandering.”

Chagrin twists Medina's expression. “You caught on to that, huh?"

Sandy smirks. “I’m ill, not stupid.” She waits for Medina to look up and catch her eye and then says, “Cheryl down the hall is taking me out this morning so that you and Zooey can have some time together.”

Medina nods slowly, relieved and slightly guilty that her mother felt the need to give them some breathing room. “I think that I’m going to take her surfing.”

Sandy beams approvingly. “That’s a great idea. I couldn't get you and Jim out of the water when you were kids."

Medina picks at the tabletop with a fingernail. “The funeral’s tomorrow..." she starts. This is as good a moment as any to talk about it. "How are you feeling?”

Sandy's knuckles whiten as she tightens her grip on her cup. She runs her tongue over the front of her teeth, clearly thinking about how much she should share.

Medina waits her out, soaking in the heat from her mug.

“I-I didn’t hear him talking to me last night,” Sandy answers eventually, words pouring out in a rush. “It was nice. Quiet.”

Medina's humbled by the trust behind the admission. She keeps her expression neutral and says, heartfelt, "no one should have to hear that asshole in their head."

A laugh bursts out of Sandy, one she that quickly stifles with the back of her hand. “Since when did you dislike your father?” she asks, tone curious.

It's a fair question. The last Sandy knew, Phil and Medina were on good terms. 

Medina could probably spill the whole sordid tale about Adrian, but she doesn’t want to send her mother into a downward spiral. She avoids lying with the truth. “He was really shitty to you and Jim during the divorce.”

Sandy hums. “Being the go between for two parents who can’t be in the same room together couldn’t have been fun either.”

Medina tips her head in concession. A glance at the clock tells her that it’s 6:30 am. She’ll let Zooey sleep until 8 and then poke the bear. She looks back at Sandy and, wanting to keep up the easy camaraderie, asks, “do you need some help picking out your outfit for the service?” She raises her mug for another sip.

Sandy’s face turns impish. “Oh, I don’t know," she says, "I thought that I’d just wear a pair of Spanx.”

Medina snorts into her coffee and chokes on a laugh. She thinks back to the time that she caught Sandy cutting herself out of the hosiery after an encounter with Phil and wipes tears of surprised mirth from her eyes. “God that was fucked up," she gasps. 

Sandy raises her cup in acknowledgement. “Yes. Yes it was.”

\--

Zooey clings to her a little bit when she wakes her up. It’s nice. A reminder of when she was little.

Medina combs her brown hair back from her face and says, “you have thirty minutes to fuss and get your bathing suit on. We’re going to see if you can stand up on a surfboard today.”

Zooey blinks, lashes a thick fan. _“We?”_

Medina sighs. “I invited Jim to come with us.”

That gets Zooey’s attention. “Really?” She pulls away and sits up on the bed. “Why?”

Medina pushes off the edge of the mattress and stands. She sticks her hands in the pockets of her cut-offs, curbing the urge to fidget like a nervous twat. “He and I need to talk about this whole situation,” she says. “And you could use some more time with your dad.”

“That’s it?” Zooey’s raised brows are suspicious. “You’re not mad at him?”

“I’m not mad at him for refusing to lie.”

Medina jerks her hands out of her pockets to bunch her hair up on the top of her head. The movement lifts her t-shirt a couple of inches up her belly. She pulls an elastic from her wrist to secure the blonde mass at her crown in a bun. “Get moving. We’ve got to rent equipment before we hit the water. If we wait too long, all of the good boards will be gone.”

Zooey’s eyes zero in on the skin and green Lycra showing above Medina’s shorts. “Are you wearing a bikini?” she asks, mouth gaping open with shock.

Medina feels herself flush and frowns. “It was the only one that I packed. We’ll have wetsuits on anyway.”

“Liar,” Zooey accuses. “I saw you stuff that frumpy one piece in your bag.” She points a finger at Medina. “You want to impress dad!”

Medina’s expression must not be threatening enough because Zooey says, “_Oh my god_, do you still like him?”

Medina pinches the bridge of her nose. "Just...get your damn clothes on," she mutters. She feels a migraine coming on.

\--

Jim’s waiting for them at the rental shack when they arrive at Haggerty’s. He’s chatting with the attendant, wetsuit already on. His right arm is curled around a surfboard.

Zooey breaks away from Medina’s side and runs to him, her backpack slapping against her shoulder blades.

Jim hears the noise and turns his head. The smile that he gives them, hand shading his eyes from the sun, is blinding. “There they are,” he says.

Medina hefts her own tote higher on her shoulder and sends up a prayer for her waterproof concealer. Jim's bright eyed and bushy tailed, not a dark circle in sight. 

He slings his free arm around Zooey when she reaches him and pulls her into his side. The once over Medina receives is thorough enough to have her feeling lightheaded. Jim waits for her to come to a stop beside Zooey before shifting his attention back to the attendant. "They’ll need two 7-footers if you have any available," he asks, completely unaffected.

Medina keeps her eyes on the young man sorting through the surfboards. She can feel Jim looking at her again.

Tension straightens her spine. She relives the bruising pressure of his hands and his desperate kiss. Two nights ago he’d left her broken and wanting with soggy dishwater hands.

She still wants.

Medina bites her lip to keep any noise from escaping and turns her head to meet sparkling blue.

“Hey,” Jim murmurs gently.

Medina thinks about the photos hanging in his gallery window, the ones that he named after her, and lets the heat in her gut unfurl a bit more.

“Jim," she says.

“Did you get any sleep?”

“No…Did you?”

“No. I was too excited.”

Zooey looks back and forth between the two of them, rapt.

Medina ignores her fluttering heart and breaks eye contact. She reaches out and tugs on Zooey’s earlobe. “Come on, Zoe. let’s pick out a wetsuit in your size.”

Jim laughs softly. Just once. Not unkindly, just knowing.

Medina lets him zip up her wetsuit, fingertips brushing hot against the nape of her neck, and only makes a cursory fuss when he insists on paying for their rentals.

\--

Jim’s glad that Medina picked the spot that she did. The waves are a decent height for beginners.

They take Zooey down to the water and get her situated in the shallows. She needs to practice paddling and popping up before they start catching green waves.

He’s surprised when Medina lets him take the lead with demonstrations. She’d always been the better surfer. Her willingness to sit back and observe makes Jim wonder what Sandy told her about his history.

Jim shakes the wet ends of his hair out of his eyes and pants for breath. He focuses on Zooey paddling into a whitewater wave and tries not to watch Medina, bobbing on her board to his left.

There’s a mean part of him that hopes Sandy told her how strung out he was. A bigger part wants to get another look at the green bikini under her wetsuit.

Jim cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “alright, Zoe, hands under your shoulders. Curl your toes and pop up.”

Zooey, bless her, does her best. She makes it most of the way up before losing her balance. The sound of her knobby knees hitting the board makes Jim wince. He sees her curl a leg into her chest, belly down on the board again, and leans forward to start paddling.

A hand lands on his shoulder, five points of heat that seep through his wetsuit to his skin.

“Wait,” Medina says.

Jim turns his head, listening, and Medina drops her hand. He raises a questioning brow.

“She’ll be embarrassed if you coddle her,” she explains. “Let her get back up.”

Jim lets his brain tick over her words and counts to ten. When his pulse has settled, he checks on Zooey. She’s paddling furiously into another wave.

She braces her arms, coils—

And falls again.

Jim fights not to panic. “Is it always this hard to watch?” he asks, swallowing around something that feels like heartburn.

Medina smiles a little. “You learn to live for at least.”

“What?”

“At least,” Medina says. “At least she’s not bleeding. At least nothing’s broken. At least she didn’t punch the kid that hurt her feelings.”

“Does that make it easier?” he asks, bewildered.

“Nope.”

\--

On her eleventh try, Zooey stands up on the board.

“_Holy shit_,” she yelps, legs wobbling as her board skims the top of a small wave. “I’m doing it!”

“Widen your stance!” Jim and Medina shout. 

Zooey glides another two feet and bails off of the board.

Medina grabs Jim’s hand and squeezes hard. “Would you really have left with me?” she asks suddenly, voice intent.

Jim blinks, caught off guard. He slides his pruned fingers between hers. 

“In a heartbeat," he says.

Zooey surfaces with a sputter and a noise of triumph. She climbs onto her board and waves at them, face split with a smile.

Jim keeps his fingers twined with Medina’s. A statement. He's content in this moment. Completely at ease. He raises his free hand and waves at their daughter. 

\--

Two hours later, Jim’s arms and chest are aching. He sprawls on his back in the sand and Zooey lays down beside him.

“That was awesome,” she says, exhausted. Her voice is hoarse from shouting.

Jim pats the top of her head. “You did good kid.”

The sound of a zipper lowering has them both looking over at Medina. She’s already peeling out of her wetsuit, a towel slung over her shoulder.

Jim follows the path of a drop of water down her cleavage and tries not to swallow his tongue.

“Jesus,” Zooey huffs. “You two seriously deserve each other.” She narrows her eyes, considering. "I'm probably supposed to feel bothered by that."

Jim snaps his mouth shut. “Huh?” he asks.

“You keep giving each other cow eyes,” Zooey clarifies. “It’s nauseating.”

Jim's ears burn. _Busted_. He coughs into his fist, embarrassed. Zooey rolls her eyes and makes a barfing sound. He pushes her face into the sand in retaliation.

He’s still laughing when she smashes a handful into his hair.

At Zooey’s urging, they all return their gear and get ice cream from the concession stand down the beach. She wanders ahead of Jim and Medina, licking her ice cream between glances at her phone.

Families dot the stretch of shoreline around them. Jim watches a man kiss his wife’s neck above the sunscreen that he’s smoothing on her back and can’t help but feel envious of their open affection.

He’s walking close enough to Medina that their arms brush occasionally, but it’s not enough. He wants to take her hand again. Wants to press her into the sand. He bites viciously at his Fudgesicle instead.

Medina tosses away her paper cup and spoon as they pass a trashcan. She purses her lips and, keeping her voice low, asks, “what are we doing, Jim?”

Jim pauses for a moment, mid step, but keeps going. He licks his lips. “I was under the impression that we were eating ice cream to avoid conversation.”

Medina sighs. “You know what I mean.”

If Jim turns his head just right, he can catch a whiff of her perfume on the breeze. “Are you currently attached to anyone, Medina?” He narrows his eyes on the pulse in her neck. “Romantically.”

Medina ducks her chin, hiding her expression. Her pulse jumps. “You know that I’m not.”

He’d had an inkling. Zooey would have said something if she were. “Then I want you back,” he says.

Medina works her jaw. “And what if—I've been alone for a long time, Jim." She meets his eyes. "What if I can't give you what you want?”

Jim looks down the beach ahead and watches Zooey dodge a sandcastle. He may hate it, but he can understand Medina’s hesitancy. It's not exactly a low risk situation. They can't be together in the traditional sense. Not in Palos Verdes at least.

“I’ve waited fifteen years,” he says eventually. “I can afford to be patient.”

It’s quiet for a few minutes as they both digest what's been said. They make it another 30 feet before Medina says, "Zooey wants to visit you.”

Jim’s heart hiccups in his chest. “Of course.” He clears his throat. “Regardless of what happens between us, she’s always welcome here with me.”

Medina nods. “It’ll have to be weekends. She still has school.”

Jim waits a beat then says, “don’t worry about me suing for custody. All I ask is that you let me see her." He kicks a rock. "Twice a year, more. Whatever she wants.”

Medina grabs his wrist and pulls him to a stop. Her face is serious, stricken. “I know that you wouldn’t," she tells him, voice tight. 

Jim gives her a small smile. He admires the way that the saltwater has twisted her long hair into kinks and waves. “I wish that I could kiss you here.”

Something cracks in Medina’s expression. “I came to the hospital,” she says. “That night. I saw you with Heather.”

Jim feels, abruptly and without warning, like he’s run head first into a wall. He shuts his eyes. He remembers the disappointment that he’d felt—waiting for Medina to show—and is unsure if he wants to scream or cry.

“Okay,” he croaks. “That’s—fuck, Medina, I thought that she was you.”

It’s Medina’s turn to close her eyes. She takes a breath and blows it out hard, cheeks puffing comically.

Jim doesn’t feel like laughing.

Medina tightens her hand on his wrist. “I—” her voice cracks. “I really was going to ask you...”

Jim pulls her to him with his free hand and buries his nose in her hair. It could pass as brotherly. No one is paying attention to them anyway.

“_God_. You must have hated me,” he whispers.

Medina presses her mouth to his skin lightly, just above the collar of his t-shirt. Her exhale makes him shudder. “Only for a little while,” she says, slightly muffled.

Something wet splats against the ground.

Jim looks down at the hand that Medina’s still holding and sees that his popsicle stick is now bare.

“My poor Fudgesicle’s all full of sand,” he tells her.

Medina gives a wet laugh into his chest. “I’ll buy you a new one.”

“Damn rights.”

Jim shifts his gaze over the top of Medina’s head and finds Zooey watching them. She gives him a shit-eating grin and continues taking pictures of them with her phone. When she gets the perfect shot, she turns the camera around for a selfie and mimes sticking her fingers down her throat.

“Our kid’s an asshole,” Jim says.

Medina sighs. “Yes. Yes she is.”

\--

Medina and Zooey drive back to the apartment around 12:30 pm. Sandy’s already there, sitting on the couch with the TV on. The kettle’s whistling loudly but she doesn’t seem to notice. Her vacant expression is worrying. 

“Go to the bedroom for a minute, Zooey,” Medina asks. She ushers her off with a gentle hand to her low back and darts into the kitchen to shut the stove off.

There’s a mug waiting on the countertop. Medina grabs the still steaming kettle and fills the mug with hot water. The weight of the appliance is reassuring—it hadn’t been on long enough for the water to completely evaporate.

Medina watches the water tint yellow in its porcelain prison and thinks about how to handle this. Sandy could have burnt the fucking building down.

The acrid scent of mint wafts into the air.

Collected, Medina makes her way into the living room, mug in hand. “Ma,” she says. Sandy doesn’t hear her. She just mutters under her breath.

Medina sets the mug down on the coffee table and crouches down in front of Sandy. She reaches out to jostle her shoulder. “Ma,” she says again. “You need to come back. Come back and talk to me.”

Sandy blinks. “Medina?” she asks. Her eyes start to focus.

“Yes, Mama, it’s me.” Sandy touches her face and smiles with recognition. Medina smiles weakly back. "Where did you go just now?” she asks.

Sandy strokes her thumb over the apple of her cheek. “We were dancing in the gazebo. The stars were out.”

Medina’s confused for a moment and then she remembers. “The house in Minnesota? Is that where you were?”

Sandy just hums. “So many beautiful constellations. Gemini is for twins. Did you know that, Medina? My Phillip did. He was always so smart and handsome…”

Medina cups the hand on her face and holds it tight. “I know, Mama. You were very in love.” They’d been high school sweethearts. “I’m sorry, but Daddy’s gone now.”

Sandy shuts her eyes and nods once in acceptance. “Sometimes it’s nice to remember.”

“Grandma?”

Medina and Sandy look across the room. Zooey’s standing in the entrance to the hallway, eyes wide and frightened.

“It’s okay, Zooey,” Sandy says, dropping her hands to fist on her thighs. “No need to be upset. Come and sit with me for a moment. Grandma just dozed off.”

Medina stands to perch on the arm of the couch and passes Sandy her mug of tea. Zooey still hasn't moved. “It’s okay, babe,” she says.

With her go ahead, Zooey hurries over to the couch and folds herself down on the cushion beside her grandmother. She lays her head on Sandy’s shoulder and fiddles with the wooden buttons on the pocket of her cardigan.

“Is it always like that?” Zooey whispers.

Sandy strokes the back of her hair. “No.” She gives Zooey another smile when she looks up at her. “It looks scarier than it is.”

Zooey nods her understanding and Sandy sighs. “Now, you went somewhere this morning. Why don’t you tell me what you got up to?”

Medina zones out a little as Zooey recounts their day at the beach with Jim. She thinks about the funeral and what news Sandy's doctor appointment will bring on Thursday. Anxiety eats at her. She catches herself chewing on a hangnail and has to sit on her hands.

_Is this episode just a blip or the quake before the big one?_

One thing’s for certain. Phil Mason doesn’t deserve her mother's sanity. He's tortured them all long enough.

\--

Jim comes out of his dark room and pops his spine with a stretch of his arms. He’s rooting around in his refrigerator when he hears someone knocking at his front door. It’s 10:30 pm.

Confused and half afraid that there’s going to be a policeman on the other side with bad news about Sandy, he walks to the door and pulls it open.

Medina. Or Medina’s legs anyway.

“What the hell are you doing?” Jim asks.

Medina hops down from the little bench next to the door and folds a screwdriver? back into the Swiss Army Knife on her keychain. She tucks her car keys into the pocket of those goddamn denim shorts that she keeps wearing and points at Jim’s house numbers.

“The three was crooked.”

“So, you thought that you’d fix it?”

Medina shrugs. “It took me a while to work up the courage to knock.” She rolls her shoulders back and meets his eyes. “To be honest, I was kind of hoping that you wouldn’t answer.”

Jim crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the door frame. “And why is that?”

“Because this is a bad idea.”

Her lips are slightly cool against his. _Christ_, Jim thinks before his brain shorts out, _how long had she been outside? _Medina pushes up on her toes and winds her hands in his hair. There’s more of it for her to hold onto than when they were teenagers. She doesn’t seem to mind; uses it to tilt his head when she wants a different angle.

Jim wraps himself around her and holds on for dear life. He likes this. Has always liked this. The squeeze of their bodies and the exchange of hot breath—tongues and fingers grappling for control.

Medina plants a hand in the middle of his chest and pushes him back through the door. Jim falls into the wall next to the hall closet, panting for breath. She follows him, just as breathless, and kicks the door shut behind her.

He meets her this time. Pushes away from the wall and collides with her body, cups her face and kisses her again and again. Medina pulls at his shirt with one hand and claws the back of his neck with the other. Possession flares in Jim’s chest. He breaks away from her mouth to tug at her own shirt and bite at her tan shoulders, the strap of her bra.

He wishes that he was capable of doing this right, of going slow and taking his time. He wishes that he wasn’t so desperate for her already.

Jim grabs Medina around the back of the thighs and hoists her up into his arms. Medina hangs on to his shoulders, legs wrapping around his waist automatically, and lets him walk her down the hall to his bedroom.

He lays her down on his bed, his sheets, and does his best to surround her, cage her in so that she can’t run and leave him heartbroken again.

He helps Medina pull her shirt over her head and undoes the button on her shorts. She lifts her hips so that he can skim them down her legs, fingers dragging over the sensitive skin of her thighs. Jim looks at her, silent, and swallows the excess saliva pooling in his mouth. She’s exquisite. Changed and yet not. His hands shake when they brush over the C-section scar just above the edge of her plain blue underwear—she’d never needed adornment. He kisses her there, lingering presses of his lips to that faded white line.

Medina squirms below him, hips lifting into the heat of his mouth. “Jim,” she says, soft. “Please, I need—”

He ducks his chin and exhales wet and hot over her mound, right over her clit. A wet spot’s already showing through the fabric of her panties. Jim hooks a finger in the fabric and pulls them aside enough to lick at her folds. Medina moans. She’s warm and tangy on his tongue. He’d never gotten the opportunity to taste her before.

Medina pushes at her panties and Jim tugs them the rest of the way down. He’s just as impatient—ravenous for more of her sweet sounds.

He settles in, shoulders pressing into her thighs, and parts her bare folds with his thumbs. Looking up at her through his lashes, Jim licks at her, broad stokes from her entrance to her clit. Medina convulses with a stuttering gasp, back arching off of the bed. She can’t hide from him right now. He’s stolen her words and the cool detachment that was in her eyes that first night in the kitchen. 

Nosing at the strip of hair on her mons, Jim fastens his lips around her clit and sucks hard as he eases a finger inside of her. She’s so soft. Molten velvet. Medina’s hand finds the back of his head. She tugs at his hair, needing an anchor, as he searches for that spot inside of her and presses just right.

“Jim,” she cries again, broken.

“Shh,” he says. “I’ve got you.” A second finger and a hint of teeth earns him a grunt that goes straight to his cock. Medina glows with sweat as she writhes above him; sex incarnate. It’s too much. Jim closes his eyes and eats at her hungrily, hips rutting into the mattress.

He knows when she’s close. The hot squeeze of her walls and the pinch of her nails in his scalp are telling.

Because he’s still sore about the years that he missed, and probably always will be, Jim bites at her thigh and says, fingers curling deep, “ask me.”

Medina shudders at the request. Her head lolls on her neck, eyes glazed.

“Medina,” he barks.

Her walls ripple. “Please, Jim,” she whines.

He obliges. Tongue stiffening, he draws circles around her clit and pumps his hand harder. Medina’s body goes slack. She comes in pulsing waves, muscles clamping down around his fingers.

He waits until she relaxes to withdraw.

Face and hand wet with her, Jim rips at his jeans and gets a hand on his cock. The relief is short lived. Feverish with his own need, he strokes himself rough and fast, hand twisting over the head. Medina tries to pull at his shoulders, but it’s too late. He thinks about spreading her release on his shaft, of claiming himself for her, and comes with a sputtering gasp.

Jim rolls out of the wet spot that he’s made on the sheets and lies on his back, winded. Medina pets at his hair with a limp hand.

When he looks up again, she’s got her shirt on and is trying to hook her panties from the end of the bed with her toes.

“Leaving already?” he asks.

Medina’s face colours. She clears her throat. “I need to get back to mom and Zooey.” She looks down and fiddles with the hem of her shirt. “Mom had the kettle on and didn’t realize it today. She completely blanked out.”

Jim wipes his face with a hand. “_Fuck_,” he says.

“She’s sleeping now. She let me give her one of those melatonin pills in the bathroom cabinet because she," Medina makes air quotes, "_'trusts the lady at health food store more than the doctor.'_”

Jim huffs. He grabs Medina’s panties and throws them to her. She curls her lips gratefully and stands to slip them on.

“Tomorrow’s going to be fucking mess isn’t it?” he asks.

Medina buttons her jeans and tucks her hair behind her ears. “Probably.”

“Can’t wait.”

She shakes her head and comes to stand before him. Hands cupping the sides of his face, Medina plants a gentle kiss on his forehead. “Thank you,” she breathes. “I needed—I just wanted to stop thinking.”

It stings a little bit to hear that she wasn’t necessarily overcome with want, but Jim gets it.

“No problem,” he says. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Can’t wait,” she whispers, lips dragging against his skin.

_Oh._

Jim presses his face into her chest and inhales her perfume.

She disappears, taking her warmth down the hall and out of the front door, between one breath and the next. 


	8. Medina

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Green Hills Mortuary and Memorial Chapel actually exists. All representations are fictional. I've never actually been there.

The funeral is an ostentatious affair.

Green Hills Mortuary and Memorial Chapel is exactly the kind of place that Medina expected her father to choose for his funeral. It looks more like a country club than a funeral home, with sprawling green lawns and water features.

According to Ava, the note that the police found with Phil’s body was very clear. He wanted a service mid-day in front of the western-facing pond, dove release included.

Medina huffs. What_ an ass. _Who blows their brains out and leaves a list of demands?

The tight, botoxed faces of the guests—all prominent members of the Palos Verdes community—make her shudder. Between the muscle paralysis and the surprised eyebrows, no one looks particularly sad. She hears a man comment on the poor quality of the pre-funeral canapés and ponders the benefits of just wandering out into the ocean. Surely, being picked apart by small fish and crabs can’t be more painful than this.

She tightens her grip on the program in her hands until the paper threatens to tear. The movement draws Sandy’s attention, and unfortunately, Jim’s. He’s seated on the other side of their mother, wearing a charcoal suit that does sinful things to his eyes. Medina ignores their looks and tries to concentrate on the eulogy—delivered by an uncle that she’s met exactly once. She almost succeeds at relaxing into the droning history of Phil’s accomplishments in med school, when Jim lays an arm along the back of Sandy’s chair.

With the slightest of movements, he reaches out and brushes the skin above the neckline of Medina’s dress.

_Bastard._ He knows exactly what he’s doing. He seems to have taken her plea for time as a personal challenge.

Medina fidgets slightly, thighs rubbing together under the skirt of her black dress, and earns another caress for her efforts [read sins]. The memory of Jim’s tongue sliding between her folds the night before has her dampening her panties like the whore that Phil accused her of being.

The thought is a sobering one. Blessedly, Zooey chooses that moment to lean over and whisper, “what do you think grandpa looks like?” She wrinkles her nose. “It must be bad if they had to keep the lid closed.”

Grateful for the distraction, Medina eyes the coffin on the dais in front of them and imagines the waxy horror that lies beneath. She’s never seen a dead body or fired a gun, but she’s hit a watermelon with a hammer. The counsellor that she’d started seeing in college had suggested that it might be an appropriate channel for her anger and feelings of abandonment. Mouth quirking inappropriately, she whispers back, “do you remember when you ran into those teenagers with the scary makeup on Halloween?”

Zooey’s eyes widen. “Shit.” She’d been six. She’d cried the three blocks home to the crappy apartment that they’d been living in and only calmed down after a bath and half of her candy.

Medina nods her agreement and watches the emcee introduce the next speaker.

They cycle through five more people before they dismiss everyone to mingle before the reception. Sandy, who’d started crying and rocking slightly back and forth after Ava detailed her chance meeting with “the love of her life,” isn’t invited to speak about her ex-husband. Medina is similarly skipped. Out of a sense of solidarity or his own dislike, Jim keeps his speech short and to the point. His, “I didn’t know my dad well, but I understand that he was well liked,” has Medina smothering a shocked laugh into her shoulder.

Ava’s grimace is something to behold.

Sensing an outburst on the horizon, Jim, Medina and Zooey round their wagons around an escalating Sandy and scoot her off to a reflecting pond away from the hubbub of the loitering crowd. There, dodging goose shit and sprinkler heads in the grass, they ask Sandy what Phil was like when she first met him. The question stops her mother from humming what Medina suspects was her wedding song under her breath.

Pacing back and forth in the sunshine, Sandy tells them things that they’d never thought to ask about as kids—not that there had been many opportunities. Phil hadn't been around a lot even before the divorce.

Head cocked in interest, Medina learns that her father used to play the trombone and that his nickname used to be Skip because he ate a peanut butter sandwich every day at lunch—Zooey, who'd never been able to have peanut butter at school, thinks this is pretty badass. By the time Sandy’s agitation peters out, Medina almost feels sorry for the quiet boy with an overbite who'd grown up to be such a jackass.

Can you miss someone that you'd never really known?

\--

Champagne lunch commences an hour after the ceremony.

Arms linked, Medina and Zooey make their way across the grass to the main building behind Jim and Sandy.

“Whose idea was it to wear high heels anyway? It’s like walking on quicksand.” Zooey steps carefully and still almost eats it when one of her heels sinks into the plush lawn.

“That’s how they get you,” Medina says. “Entombed forever with all of the rich people who pay to be planted here.” She trips a little as her own heel gets caught and grips Zooey for stability. Face twisting with a scowl, she says, “and if remember correctly, it was you who said that I had to wear heels so that my _“mom ass doesn't look so droopy.”_"

Zooey sighs and keeps her voice low. “Yeah, I really didn’t do myself any favours with that one. Dad’s been staring at your butt since we got here.” She hesitates, fixing her eyes on the ground ahead of them and misses Medina’s violent blush. “So, are you two like…dating now?” she asks.

Zooey’s reluctance to get her hopes up tugs at Medina’s heart. Releasing her upper arm for her hand, she holds Zooey’s fingers tight and pulls her to a stop. Haltingly, she says, “babe, I know that you'd like us to be together, but…these things don't happen overnight. I can’t just… jump into something like this without considering all of the complications. It's only been four days. You have to understand that this is a bit of an adjustment. I’ve been alone a long time.”

Zooey stays quiet until she's finished, then she squeezes Medina’s hand. “Mom,” she says. “You’ve been worried about things for as long as I can remember. You’re not a teenager on food stamps anymore.” Her eyes are beseeching. “Maybe you should try being happy.”

Emotional blow dealt, Zooey slips away from Medina and hurries to catch up with Jim and Sandy.

Medina watches Jim pull their daughter in close to his side and sniffs hard, willing away the tears that Zooey’s words had brought to her eyes. She’d fought so hard to keep their heads above water. It’s been the two of them against the world since Zooey took her first breath.

It's hard to think about anyone else being a part of that relationship, of sacrificing her hard won independence. 

But what would she really be losing? If she said yes to the relationship that Jim’s offering?

It’s not like when they were teenagers and dangerously co-dependant. As she’d told Zooey, they’ve both built lives for themselves. No one has to feel unequal or beholden like Sandy was to Phil.

Medina’s had enough therapy to know that compromise is the basis of healthy relationships. Or healthier, in this case. She’s lucky she knows, to have someone who's aware of her trauma and is willing to wait for her to figure her shit out. That kind of understanding, to be known so deeply and still deemed worthy of affection, is more than some people get in a lifetime. 

\--

Medina's poking at a cocktail shrimp with a toothpick and considering a cucumber sandwich, when she hears footsteps approaching. Curious, she turns her head and sees the one person that she’d been really hoping to avoid.

_Balls_. It's Adrian.

His hair is longer but it’s still unmistakably him. He must have arrived late, because she hadn't seen him during the service.

“Medina,” he says, smiling. “I wasn’t sure if you’d show up.”

She doesn't like the insinuation that she'd be so petty. It’s true, she wouldn’t have come if it weren’t for Sandy, but he doesn’t know that. Like everyone else, he probably thinks that she deserted her family by choice.

“Well I’ve only got the one dad,” she says, tone waspish. “I’d hate to miss this opportunity to pay my respects.”

Adrian surprises her and laughs, “man, I’d forgotten what a ballbuster you are.” His eyes twinkle at her over the rim of his champagne glass. “So, did dear old dad send you away too?”

Medina's taken aback by the question. Mouth agape, she asks, “you know about that?”

Adrian finishes his drink and grabs another from the buffet table. “I made an educated guess,” he says. “Phil shipped me off to military school the week after you left.”

_“Fuck,"_ she says, with feeling. She grabs her own flute of champagne and takes a long gulp. “I’m so sorry Adrian, I didn’t think—”

He grabs her wrist and rubs his thumb soothingly over the bones there. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s not your fault. We were kids. I’m just sorry that it ended the way that it did. We were good together.”

Medina swallows guiltily and shifts her eyes over his shoulder. She can’t say that she feels the same. She’d been using him to make Jim jealous. The attraction was never genuine.

Before she can think of something politely neutral to say, Medina feels Jim’s attention like the scorch of a brand along the side of her face. He walks over to them slowly, giving her plenty of time to see his approach, and wraps a hand around the back of her neck. His fingers dip possessively into the curls that she’d spent an hour coiffing her hair into as he bends to kiss her forehead.

The aggressiveness of the move sends a bolt of interest through Medina. "There you are," he murmurs. 

She tries not to sway into the body curving around her protectively, but her spine bends of its own will, sliding her wrist out of Adrian's grip. Jim’s lips quirk into a satisfied smile and she has to root her feet to keep from kissing it.

Adrian watches the exchange with thinly veiled contempt. “Jim,” he greets. “I was just getting reacquainted with our long lost sister.”

Jim levels him with an unimpressed look. “I bet you were.”

Adrian’s teeth show, slashing, sharp, as he shifts his weight forward. “Yes,” he grits. “I know that you like to occupy Medina’s attention, but we were having a conversation.”

Confused by the simmering tension, Medina raises a brow and looks between the two men. She must be missing something. This can't still be about the time that Jim caught her climbing out of Adrian’s car. “That’s alright,” she says, hoping to diffuse the situation before it can escalate to violence. “I should check on mom anyway.”

“I’ll take you,” Jim insists. He closes his hand too hard around her shoulder, as if Adrian had reached out and tried to grab her away.

Adrian curls a lip but inclines his head graciously. “By all means. Don’t let me keep you.”

Palm hot between her shoulder blades, Jim steers Medina in a roundabout tour of the ballroom. They pass by the table where Zooey’s teaching Sandy to play some game on her phone, but they don’t stop to check in. As soon as they lose Adrian’s eyes in the crowd, Jim picks up the pace. He leads her out the side doors to the main funeral home and asks, voice deceptively soft, “did you enjoy catching up?” They pass a door that says employees only and he opens it, shoving her inside.

Medina trips in her heels and bumps into something that sends a burst of chemical into the room. Pine? The door closes with a quiet snick and Jim flips on the fluorescent light above them. Abruptly, Medina realizes that they’re in a supply closet.

“You leave me hard and aching after climbing out of your car in that dress, and then I find you talking to that fuck?” Jim snaps. He prowls closer, penning her in against a shelf of cleaning supplies. “Are you trying to make me crazy?” His hands land on her hips.

Medina stands her ground. She’s not going to be intimidated. “Doesn’t feel nice does it?” she asks.

Jim’s fingers tighten at the quip and his forehead finds hers. “Dammit, Medina,” he says, breath hot over her lips. His shoulders slump. “Foul play.”

Medina caves at the quiet hurt in his voice. She wants to fuck the soft look that he’d given her last night back into his eyes. “I never liked Adrian that way,” she says. “He was payback for Heather.”

Jim sighs, “I know. The bastard just gets under my skin. You’d think that he’d have the decency to stay the fuck away after I caved his teeth in when you left.”

_“What?”_

He doesn’t look guilty. “I was angry. I figured he was in on it.”

Medina sucks in a breath. “You really shouldn’t have done that.”

“Probably not.”

She squirms under the heat of his hands, seduced by his nearness and his dizzying scent. “It’s kind of hot that you did though.” Her nipples harden against the silk of her dress and Jim's eyes blaze in response. Hands fisting in his suit jacket, Medina raises her chin to kiss him. She pushes up on her toes and takes and takes until she’s glutted on his noises and the sweet taste of his lips.

“Maybe you should remind me who I belong to,” she whispers, pulling back to nip at his jaw. 

Jim growls with all of the ardor that he’d had the night before, when he’d made her beg, and pushes her dress up over her hips. Medina sucks up his intensity like a sponge. She wants to be manhandled, used in a way that's entirely for her pleasure. Jim stares at the thong that she’s wearing underneath her slip and fingers the lace along the top edge. “Did you wear these for me?” he asks.

Medina bucks her hips into his touch and nods frantically, desperate for more contact. “You. It’s always been you, Jim.”

Pleased, he hooks a finger in the flimsy material and pulls them to the side, sliding his knuckle against her swollen bud. 

Medina's teeth chatter with the force of the jolt that rushes through her. Her sex gives an eager gush. 

“What's this?” he rasps. “Seeing me all tore up made you wet?”

“Yes,” she whimpers. “Jim, please—”

Her words are cut off with a gasp when he heaves her up on the shelf. He wedges himself between her thighs and holds her there, her ass just on the edge. “God, I can't wait to feel you again. Hold your panties for me.”

Medina complies. She releases her iron grip on the metal above her and snakes a hand down to hold herself open for him. Jim groans and unzips his slacks, dragging the length of his cock out. He brushes the crown, damp with his own arousal, over her clit a few times before he butts it up against her entrance. Medina shudders with anticipation and nods, giving him the go ahead. Hand squeezing her thigh, Jim pushes slowly, conscious of the lack of prep, until just his blunt tip is inside of her. 

Medina's eyes fall closed. The stretch is indescribable. Painful in the best way. Jim feels her spasm and chuckles, “do you like that, Medina? Would you like the rest?”

She bites her lip in frustration and mutters, “don’t do that."

“What’s that, sweetheart? You’ll need to speak up?”

Medina forces herself to look at him, cheeks blazing, and says clearly, “fuck me, Jim. Don't tease.”

Body corded with the effort to keep her balanced, the bastard grins. “Your wish is my command.” He swats the hand holding her panties away and plunges himself inside of her to the hilt.

_“Yes!”_ Medina grabs his shoulder with her free hand, the other still braced above her, and holds on for dear life. Jim tilts her hips and angles himself deeper, prodding for that intense spot. She yowls like a cat in heat when he finds it, and he withdraws to keep thrusting hard.

The heat of him—the feel of him making room for himself inside of her body again is earth-shattering. It feels as if he’s changing her on a cellular level, leaving his mark on every atom of her being.

_“Fuck, Medina,” _Jim swears. He’s stopped grinning. His face looks as cracked open as she feels. “Tell me you want me,” he gasps. He sounds destroyed. _“Tell me.”_ If possible, he drives deeper.

_I love you._ _I never stopped_. The need to tell him sweeps through her like a giant wave, gaining energy with every inch, drowning out all of her doubts, until she’s afraid that if she opens her mouth, that’s the only thing that she’ll be able to say.

She wants to wrap herself around him and choke out the rest of the world. To let him heal everything about her and be healed in return.

_No_. Medina pants shallowly and tries to grasp for sense. Jim deserves better than a mid-sex declaration.

This man that she’d loved and left broken once.

He deserves her certainty.

“I want you,” she says, body twisting with mounting pleasure. “I trust you.”

Jim makes a little sound, like a wounded man, and brings his lips down to mouth along her cheek and jaw. He kisses her, harsh and hungry, and condenses his emotion into the rhythm of his hips. Medina arches her back as best that she’s able and convulses into him, seeking the sensation that's set to burst deep in her core. 

_“Yes, Medina.”_ He grinds his pubic bone against her clit. “That's it.” He’s breathing so hard that the words are almost soundless. “Come, baby. Come for me.”

One thrust, two. The sun explodes behind her eyes. Medina’s body forgets it’s need for oxygen as it shakes so hard for him. Jim buries himself in her with a shivering flick, hands bruising her skin, and comes with her.

His face is naked when he meets her eyes. Back quivering, he grunts, "well, we're both definitely going to hell."

Medina presses her smile into his neck and just breathes him in. "At least we'll be together."

Later, Jim tucks himself away and pulls her dress down, fussing with the wrinkles. Medina wobbles in her shoes and tries to fix her hair without a mirror. It's a wasted effort. She feels thoroughly rumpled and entirely his.

Smoothing the fabric low on her abdomen, Jim stops and says softly, “I didn’t even think.”

Medina catches his hand and kisses his knuckles. “It’s okay, I would have said something.” She meets his serious gaze and smiles a little. “They had to take my uterus out when they did the emergency c-section. I was bleeding too much.”

Jim's face darkens. “I’m so sorry. For not being there. For everything.”

Medina shakes her head. “I’m not telling you to make you feel guilty. It’s just a thing that happens sometimes.” Jim straightens and she flattens his tie, hand pressing comfortingly in the middle of his chest. “I don’t regret our little girl,” she murmurs. “I’d do it the same way again if it meant that she'd turn out to be the same little asshole.”

Jim huffs a laugh. He stares at her, gauging the truth in her eyes and nods. “Speaking of the hell spawn, we should probably be getting back.” He sounds reluctant to leave.

Medina knows the feeling. It had been nice to exist in their own world for a little while.

They leave the closet separately, Jim going first and Medina following five minutes later.

The scene that she finds when she gets back to the ballroom is not what she was expecting.

Adrian, now visibly drunk, is standing in front of a scared looking Zooey and Sandy at the dessert table. He staggers into Zooey's space and slurs loudly, “how old are you, kid?”

“She’s fifteen,” Sandy says, clutching her granddaughter and her plate of brownies closer. “Not that it’s any of your business.”

Jim's too far away. He's caught behind a pack of cousins from Minnesota. 

Medina sees Adrian do the mental math and hears him shout, “_fifteen?”_ It’s like watching a slow-moving train wreck. He whirls around, searching for her face, and pins her to the spot with his eyes. “Fifteen?" He waves his hands around wildly, splashing his drink. "Medina, is this my fucking kid?”

Sandy scowls and steps in front of Zooey. “How dare you,” she says. “How dare you say such filthy things.”

“Well we used to fuck, Sandy, so I think I’m well within my rights.”

The room goes silent. Medina feels the gazes of hundreds fall on her and clears her throat, prickling with embarrassment and rage. “That’s enough,” she says, striding forward. She gets between Adrian and Sandy just as Jim breaks through the crowd and pulls Zooey into his chest.

Adrian laughs mockingly. “What, Medina? You didn’t tell her that Phil knew we were fucking and sent you away?”

Medina doesn’t look at her mother. She doesn’t think that she can stomach the disappointment.

“You’re pathetic,” she whispers, low and deadly. “I knew it when I was a teenager and I know it now. Stay the fuck away from my kid.”

“She could be mine!” Adrian bellows, jabbing a finger at her face accusingly.

Medina doesn’t flinch. “No, she really couldn’t be. Or are you too drunk to remember that you came when I tried to put the condom on?”

“BURN!” Zooey shouts. Medina hears the slap of a high five and asks the Lord to save her from her family's stupidity. 

Shamefaced, Adrian mutters, “my mistake,” and let’s a family friend take him outside for some fresh air. Damage done, Medina turns to her mother, ready to receive her berating.

It doesn't come. Sandy's glaring at Ava, not her.

“Sandy—” Ava says, stepping away from the front of the crowd.

_“Did you know about this?”_ Sandy hisses. “Did you know that that monster sent my baby away?”

“This is really not the time or place—”

“Answer me!”

Ava lifts her chin, ever the dignified widow. “Yes. I knew about it. Medina’s indiscretion needed to be handled quietly. You were in no fit state to parent. Phil did what he needed to, to protect the family.”

_“God,”_ Medina says harshly. “It’s like you believe it too.”

Ava flits her eyes to her and scowls. “And you, you should be grateful to your father. If he hadn’t borrowed that money from those awful people to pay off your hospital bills, he might not have killed himself!”

Medina’s eyebrows draw together. “What?”

The hospital had said that it was an anonymous donation. $70,908 paid in full. One bad month away from being on the street, Medina hadn’t asked too many questions. She’d assumed that some of her clients at the diner, or the people in her building, had gotten together to raise the funds. Her old neighbourhood in Las Cruces was pretty tight knit. Back then, everyone had known that she was busting her ass to pay off the medical bills from Zooey’s birth. She’s not ashamed to say that she accepted more than one hand out. 

Ava says something to the effect that Medina should be proud of herself for killing her father and Sandy lunges for her throat. Still shocked by Ava’s revelation, Medina shakes herself in time to catch the back of her mother’s cardigan before she can commit a homicide.

“It’s not worth it, Mama,” she says. “She’ll drink herself into an early grave before too long.”

“God willing.”

Ava just scoffs.

They don’t stick around for very long after that. Medina wraps an arm around Sandy and hustles her out to the parking lot with Jim and Zooey.

They pass a shiny Beamer and Sandy pulls away to bang her fists angrily against the hood. She kicks a tire with her black loafers and screams out her rage. A mother’s pain.

Jim and Medina exchange a look, unsure of what to do. Medina hopes that she leaves a dent.

Sandy stops when she's breathing hard. “Why didn’t you call?” she cries, exhausted. “Fifteen years, Medina. Fifteen years he took from us.”

Jim looks just as pissed, but he’s doing a better job of hiding it.

Temples throbbing, Medina says, “I guess I just started to believe that you were better off. That I was. I was so angry for a long time.”

“Were you ever going to tells us what happened?” Jim asks. 

Medina runs a hand over her face, already missing her afterglow. “Look,” she says. “The man just died. You were already going through a lot. It seemed wrong to come back and immediately shit on him for ruining my life.”

“Ouch, mom.” Zooey quivers her lip dramatically. “I thought that you loved me and our life. Two peas in a New Mexican pod.”

Medina looks up at the sky for patience. “You know what I mean.” She meets Sandy’s eyes and says, “he pulled me aside before we left to see Jim. He gave me $1000 and told me to take my shit and scram.” She looks over at Zooey. “By the time I stopped running, I realized that I had someone else to worry about.”

Sandy’s eyes soften with understanding. “You were afraid that he’d take the baby.”

Medina nods. “He had a lot of pull at the hospital. I was scared that he’d say I was unfit and put her up for adoption.”

“I hope that the mob, or whoever he borrowed money from, threatened to break his legs,” Jim says, with a bitterness that Medina understands. She doubts that Phil payed off her debt out of any true sense of altruism.

She exhales and looks at her mother from underneath her lashes. The word filthy rings in her ears. “I’m sorry that you had to find out about me and Adrian like that.”

Sandy comes over and takes Medina’s hands in hers. “Oh, honey. I don’t care about that. It was a long time ago. I just hate that kid. He’s always been a spoiled brat.”

Zooey deadpans, “grade A twatwaffle for sure.”

Jim’s the first to crack. He laughs, great whooping blasts, and the rest of them join in. It feels cleansing. All of them standing there, cackling like hyenas. The last of the Mason tribe.

“Fuck,” Medina wheezes. “What a funeral.”

\--

By mutual agreement, they all head back to Sandy’s apartment. Zooey helps Jim order pizza and Sandy digs an ancient bottle of tequila out of a kitchen cupboard for margaritas.

“Are you even supposed to be drinking?” Medina asks, eyes narrowed.

Sandy just hums and plugs the blender in. “Humour an old woman.” She smirks. “Besides, I’m not on my medications right now.”

“You’re a menace,” Medina decides.

“And don’t you forget it.”

When the margaritas are churning, Medina ducks down the hallway to the bedroom to change out of her formal clothes. She’s just undoing the belt of her wrap dress when someone starts kissing her neck.

“You shouldn’t be in here,” she groans.

Jim gives her a little bite in response. “I’m sorry,” he says. “For Phil. For Heather.”

Medina turns around and grabs his face, marveling at the feel of his stubble under her thumbs. “You don’t owe me any more apologies.” She presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “No more secrets.”

Jim nods and echoes, “no more secrets.”

The door opens before they can say anything else, and they freeze, caught red handed.

Zooey rolls her eyes. “Gross. I sleep in here.” She strolls past them to dig in her duffle bag for a t-shirt. “Aren’t you guys all tired out. I know you totally banged at the funeral.”

The observation is too much for Jim. “Okay,” he says, separating from Medina. “I’m going to forget that you ever used that word. Excuse me while I go stick my head in the blender.” He backs out of the room and closes the door behind him.

Zooey snickers, “what a baby.”

“Just so we’re clear,” Medina says. “Your first date? I’m pulling out all the stops. Embarrassing pictures, stories about when you used to eat your boogers, the works.”

“Bring it on.”

They sit around Sandy’s kitchen table that evening and eat pizza and play cards like a real family. Jim plays three Uno reverse cards on Zooey and she chases him around the apartment, screaming like a banshee. Sandy laughs so hard that she stops making noise.

Medina doesn’t want to be too hopeful, but it feels like things could come together. Like they might actually be alright. Drunk on tequila and the warm glow of their smiling faces, she almost forgets to worry about Sandy’s appointment.


End file.
